Finding the Pure Note

My Strings Are Cut

Fuck. No. I was crumbling in a lot of ways, but this isn't on the drugs. I think. If Fletcher knew, no fucking way he'd let it slide. No way would he be sleeping soundly while I'm in pain. He'd be dragging me to the professionals, doing everything in his power to help me. Fix me. Save a miserable excuse for a human being. I don't fucking deserve you, Fletch.

I weep quietly, pulling him against me, burying my face into his shoulder blade, fighting in vain against the fire that claims my head. This can't get any better. And I can't tell Fletcher. I can't. That stupid fucking pill is all I can think about.

Pulling away from his skin, painfully, I fish for my phone, open my texts and I pull up Andrew's name. I'm halfway through begging for that favour, that instant reliever, and I drop the phone, sighing, gritting my teeth. I can't do this next to Fletcher. Andrew is a link to a darker world, a grey one, where sex and drugs came easily and he was my revenge against a cold, hallow world that was very much Fletcher-less. I need some kind of fix, but it won't come through Andrew. We're done.

Fletcher stirs and I coil my arms around his waist and press my chest against his back. His arms move down, and I am startled when his hands gently grab onto mine. He just holds them, saying nothing, and I can't keep the grin off my face. Closing my eyes, I feel a fresh tear mark its course down my cheek. The pain is still there, but it's not as powerful. My mind in feasting on thoughts of Fletcher, and Fletcher alone. And that helps. It really helps.

And though I thought sleep was lost to me that night, for the first time since my abrupt awakening, I felt I could happily enter unconsciousness once again. I don't know what I'll find, but with Fletcher's hands in mine, I think I'll make it through this night.

*****

Watching Fletcher eat breakfast was like watching a seal try and swallow down a whole cod. I was mesmerised, as if I hadn't seen him eat a million times before, and then he catches me looking at him, pausing with his spoon dangling just in his mouth.

"What?" he says through a mouthful of cereal.

"Nothing," I answer, shaking my head and suppressing a smile. "You're just adorable."

He fixes me with a cheesy grin that has milk spilling out across his cheek. I snort with laughter and he grabs at a napkin, wiping his cheek, trying to fight back laughter of his own. It doesn't last. He giggles, cheeks a fresh shade of scarlet. This feels good. This is Fletcher freaking Maddox. My boyfriend. I love everything about him. Especially the adorable little fumbles and quirks.

Carol enters the kitchen with a yawn, arms twisted as she stretches them out, and spotting the two of us in the tail end of our giggling fit, she frowns.

"What's so funny?" Carol wasn't a morning person—but then again, there aren't many of us early risers, and I've been conditioned through gruelling years into this lifestyle—so I'm surprised to see her up so early. She usually likes to sleep in on Sundays.

"Just Fletcher being an idiot," I tease, prompting Fletcher to elbow me under the table.

Carol rolls her eyes. "What's new?"

"Thanks for the support," Fletcher huffs, shovelling another spoonful in his mouth. "You could have shaid no, my shon's an inshelligent 'ung smhan."

"What was that?" Carol smirks, cupping a hand to her ears. "I swear you said something about being... I think I heard arrogant? Yeah, arrogant, acting like a caveman."

Fletcher shrugs, and I laugh. Carol winks at me and then bustles over to the fridge. I enjoy the silence, a perfect Sunday morning, family and love, and I watch him, only him. He stares down at my plate, tapping at it with his spoon.